


Water

by DeadFictionalCharacters



Series: The Mist AU [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, There’s a meeting, a few mild descriptions of some serious violence, but nothing gory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 20:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadFictionalCharacters/pseuds/DeadFictionalCharacters
Summary: Sealand too, has been having nightmares about events happening in another world, and is eavesdropping on a meeting for an explanationA continuation of the previous fanfiction from a different side of the dreams and from a different perspective, with some of the same scenes retold from a different viewpoint





	Water

Sealand had always thought he just needed glasses. Nothing about any of this had seemed strange to him, that's why he hadn't really mentioned it. The cloud that always surrounded him was probably just a fog in the mirror, or some blurry eyesight. The dreams as well, they had always seemed normal, or at least, they weren't out of the ordinary. He had always been told about living somewhere with grass and plants and houses instead of a fort when he was little, before he could leave, so it didn't seem that odd to him, even if it was filled with people he'd never seen before, as well as some he'd known all his life. As for the mist, maybe it was steam, or smoke from shells, or, more recently, the fire- certainly not anything odd. 

The sparks as well, he just thought it was faulty machinery, or electric shocks, nothing he was actually causing. The gas stove lit itself, he said, the wire was a bit broken, he must've just felt a shock from it- everything about it was perfectly normal. 

Even the meetings England had with a specific set of people that had no real set of reasons to meet up was normal- maybe they were just sorting out a peace treaty, or later, a trade deal. Besides, he didn't care much about England. That's why he didn't tell him about any of this. Even when he did care, back when he was little, he didn't even notice it enough to tell him, there were so many other, more important questions to ask, like when the war would end, or what chocolate tasted like, or if seagulls were secretly evil-why should he have cared about a bit of fog. 

When England left, it was a bit different. The fog that always followed him was more noticeable, but he still didn't think much of it, it was just a cloud in his eyes that wouldn't go away no matter how hard he rubbed them. He had bigger problems to worry about then anyway- everyone had left him alone for 11 years, stranded in the middle of the ocean. 

Then he became a micronation, and some of the foggy misty thing cleared, but it was still there, and the sparks in his hands began to look more like flames from a lighter, but still, he didn't think much of it. 

However, the dreams had begun to change recently. Once, it was simply him playing in a forest filled with lights and grass of no colour he had seen in this universe, of meals in houses and huts from well before his era. Simply the signs of an imagination beforehand. He'd always looked forward to these dreams, they were much happier than his usual dreams, but then they began to change. 

First, he fell asleep, and there was a cloud of mist moving towards him- identical to the one that had always cloaked him, and it was at that point that he realised that in these dreams, he could see clear as day- there was no mist surrounding him. A woman with red hair that he did not know, but looked similar to him picked him up, and ran away from it. When he looked over her shoulder, he saw shadows in it, and dark tendrils snaking forward, occasionally snatching some poor bird that strayed too close to it. He awoke from that dream scared for his life, but he could not imagine why- it wasn't that scary after all, he told himself, but he couldn't stop shaking the entire day. 

The night after that, he dreamt of the woman from the last dream hugging him, and crying. She said goodbye to him, as well as some of the people next to him. They looked to be his age, but the one next to him looked suspiciously like a much younger version of Arthur. He was confused, but everyone else was tearful and so was he. The woman walked up some creaky wooden stairs, and draped a piece of cloth over her shoulders, and suddenly, he seemed to recall her sewing that same piece, her tears staining the beautiful fabric. Then he looked up and Sealand barely had any time to register his recognition of the man on the podium before the one who looked like Arthur put his hand over Sealand's eyes, and he saw through a crack in his fingers the flash of a knife, and a quick stream of red. 

Peter knew that something was off after this dream, it just didn't feel like a dream at all, more like a long forgotten memory. Whatever it was, he felt sick the entire day afterwards, and he wanted so desperately to talk to Arthur about it, but he was in another meeting with his weird group of friends.

Whatever, he was practically an expert in sneaking into meetings he was uninvited to, he could just go and listen at the door or something, and then see what England thought afterwards. The door was quite muffling, and they were obviously speaking in hushed voices. He could make out that among them were England and his other brothers from the isles, as well as Norway, someone who could've been Romania, and possibly Moldova. Iceland might've been there, but if he was, he certainly didn't say much. 

England spoke, this time in a clear voice, "We all have to admit that our dreams have been considerably more violent of late- there has to be a reason."  
There was a murmur of agreement, and England spoke again. "In addition to this, those shrouded in the mist are more thickly coated than usual- sometimes I feel I can barely see them."  
The child thought that he heard Norway agree to that, but then he paid more attention to England's words- they had to be referring to the blurriness, and Sealand realised that ever since the dreams had stopped being peaceful, everything had seemed a bit more clouded over, a bit foggier, definitely more noticeable than usual. He also noted how England said that there were others wrapped in the fog, or the mist, or whatever it was called- he had a feeling that there were- so many of his friends seemed to be blurrier than everyone else, Kugel, for example, always looked like he was behind some steamed up glass. Again, since they couldn't see anything like this, Sealand thought he just needed glasses.

Whatever he'd said about the violence as well, that seemed pretty true to him as well, what with all the stabbing and sacrifices of late. 

With all the air of someone who wanted to seem important, he knocked on the door, and the room fell silent. England stuck his head round the door, saw who it was, and glared. "You do know that we're talking about important things here, right? This isn't another one of those meetings you can just sneak into. If you want breakfast, there's bread and a toaster in the kitchen, you don't have to get me for it." It was in this moment that Sealand seriously reconsidered telling him. It would definitely make England's life more of a pain, and he'd have to pay some more attention to him. Not that that really meant much. 

"Why would I come to you for breakfast? You'd just break the toaster," Sealand smirked, "Anyway, I knocked because I heard what you were saying, and I have some questions."  
England's eyes widened a bit, before he stepped out the door and closed it, ready to scold Sealand for eavesdropping- surely that went against all known manners.

Sealand, however seemed to get much more serious than was usual for the child, with his voice quietening and his smirk disappearing, he held up his hand, waving it around slowly, and said "This is the mist, isn't it? The blurriness?"  
England nodded, all of his anger gone as well. He had suspected for a long time that the child had the sight, had no idea how he'd gone so long without asking him about it.  
"And these dreams, the ones with the knives and the tapestries-everyone in there has been having them as well?" Sealand's voice quivered slightly as he mentioned the knives. Not enough for him to start crying, but enough for England to tell that the dreams had been pretty traumatic for the child.  
"Yes. Not as specific as that, but everyone here has something to do with them." He paused for a moment, his hand hesitating over the doorknob, "Here, I think you should come in, but don't say anything unless asked, I'll explain everything to you after the meeting. Try not to disrupt it too much"


End file.
